


Cordial

by DarthAstris



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse of Authority - Military Hierarchy, Abuse of Authority - Subordinate Feels Unable to Reject Superior's Advances, Betrayal - Victim's Family Arranged Xcon, Bondage, Choking, Conditioning - Taking Advantage of Victim's Sexual Service Conditioning, Defiant Victim, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Victim Forced to Drink Alcohol, Victim Forced to Relive Past Trauma, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAstris/pseuds/DarthAstris
Summary: Sighing, Hux rubbed the crook of his neck as he walked out into his private office and picked up the buzzing comlink from beside his datapad.He hadn't had a chance to settle into his new quarters aboard theSteadfast.  He hadn't even removed his gloves yet."Sir," a young, quavering voice said as soon as the line connected. "The allegiant general requests—" there was a light touch to the word, a hint that it was, in fact, not a request at all, "—that you join him in his ready room for an evening cordial at 22:00."
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Enric Pryde, Armitage Hux/Original Male Character(s), Armitage Hux/Snoke, Brooks/Armitage Hux
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Cordial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NuclearMcDuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearMcDuck/gifts).



> Written as part of the Consent Issues Exchange 2020, for the lovely and like-minded NuclearMcDuck. Thank you for this delicious prompt! I hope it brings you joy, even though it fulfills only a small part of the many, many ways to destroy Hux's life. I'll definitely be revisiting similar themes in the future! <3
> 
> Huge thank you, also, to my fantastic line editor, Y! (Galaxy's best editor!)

Armitage vividly recalled the first time he'd closed the door to his own, private quarters.

The door had hissed shut, sliding along the well-oiled track with ease, just like any other door on the ship. But something about it had sounded heavier. Solid. More secure. Like double-blast doors sealing him away from the explosive turmoil of his life outside.

He'd never been permitted privacy before.

As a child, living in Brendol's quarters, Armitage had not had doors on his room. Even the fresher had to remain unlocked and his usage strictly time-limited.

In the academy, when he wasn't called to his father's quarters for… reasons… he'd been forced to bunk with three other boys, who had abused and belittled him at every opportunity.

Even as a low-level officer, he'd shared a room with another, and while she had not harmed him, it was plain to see that her assignment had been his father's misguided attempt to subvert his son's homosexual ways.

It wasn't until he'd earned his teals that he'd been allowed to move into private quarters on the upper officers' decks.

With each rung on the ladder, he'd climbed higher above those who could abuse him and get away with it. Still, some enemies had remained, but… he would deal with them all in due time. At the very least, they couldn't hurt him badly enough to keep him from his duties, which had become far more numerous and too noticeable to be shirked for "sick leave." 

He'd stood there, hand on the door, sobbing for what seemed like hours, unable to believe that it was all _finally_ over. The relief had been unimaginable.

It hadn't lasted long.

He'd underestimated the cruel, controlling natures of those who outranked him, and the capacity of their medical facilities to mend any wound. Rather than diminishing, their atrocities had intensified and spread out over greater periods of time. Daily and weekly assaults had become monthly, yearly, but the humiliation and agony had remained the same.

Now, a general of the First Order, he stood behind a different door, no less his, but no more secure than before. Sure, it kept out any unwanted, nightly visitors – and now that Snoke was no more, he remained somewhat mentally safe as well – but it would do nothing to stop the last man above him from summoning Hux to his quarters whenever the mood struck him. And Pryde would. Hux had no doubt about that.

The allegiant general had accepted Hux's presence aboard his ship with the same stern expression with which he greeted every officer, but behind Ren's back, his eyes had narrowed and his thin lips had curled into a sinister smirk.

Hux sagged against the closed door, his posture slumped and his shoulders bowed by the immense despair that settled over him. 

Putting up with Ren's abuse was hard enough; he didn't think he could take any more. What good would it do to keep pressing on, when all for which he'd worked so hard lay in shambles? Every time he succeeded in ridding himself of some obstacle, another tyrant took their place: Snoke supplanted Brendol, Ren replaced Snoke, Engell had been promoted to oversee Phasma's portion of the Stormtrooper program and was slowly edging into his own, and now Pryde had stepped in with his reserve forces to wrest away what little control Hux still had over his army and the minds of the people. He would never escape from under the thumbs of those who abused him, never command the Order, never rule the galaxy as was his intended destiny.

And yet…

He couldn't give in.

Couldn't give up.

It just wasn't in his nature.

Too much hate for all those who had done injustices to him still smoldered in his heart. He would see them all burn even if he had to go down in flames, too.

He didn't scream, much as he wanted to (even though the sonic dampeners in his room afforded him the privacy to throw a tantrum as epic as any of Ren's). 

No. 

He began to pick himself up off the floor, as he had so many times before, intending to make his way to the refresher to prepare for bed. His knee caught in the seam of his trousers where the flared hip attached across the front of his shin. He stumbled and cursed under his breath, bending over to inspect the fabric. He hadn't torn it, thankfully, but he'd need to put in an order for the tailor droids to make adjustments. Over the past year, stress had siphoned too much weight from his already thin frame.

The top three clasps of his tunic were barely open when his comlink buzzed. Sighing, Hux rubbed the crook of his neck as he walked out into his private office and picked it up from beside his datapad. He hadn't even had a chance to remove his gloves.

"Sir," a young, quavering voice said as soon as the line connected. "The allegiant general requests—" there was a light touch to the word, a hint that it was, in fact, not a request at all, "—that you join him in his ready room for an evening cordial at 22:00."

Hux glanced at the chrono on his nightstand.

_21:40._

Of course, the bastard wouldn't even allow him time to settle into his new quarters before tormenting him.

"Acknowledged." His clipped tone told the aide all he needed to know.

"Yes, s—"

Hux cut off the transmission.

If he left now, he might just make it on time. Being late could have… dire consequences.

Hux stuffed the comlink back into his pocket but left his datapad behind. Nothing about the late hour or the last minute summons suggested that any business would be conducted at this so-called meeting, but, if by some miracle Pryde surprised him with his professionalism, Hux's eidetic memory would serve him just the same. He was already out into the corridor and waiting at the turbolift before he'd finished re-fastening his tunic; another sign that the extended stress was getting to him. On the _Finalizer_ , he'd never have set foot outside his quarters looking less than the embodiment of military precision and protocol.

At least the meeting would be in a somewhat public place. The ready room stood adjacent to the conference room and the CIC, where officers and troopers would be milling about at all hours. Perhaps that was call for some relief; unlike Snoke and Brooks, Pryde did not typically care to indulge in his proclivities in front of an audience. Then again, Hux hadn't seen him in nearly twenty years.

His brow furrowed at the thought. He hadn't been plagued by those memories in over a decade, though they had started to eke into his nightmares ever since Ren had turned on him.

The door to the ready room loomed larger, seemed more intimidating than ever before. Hux swallowed and straightened his spine, tugging down the hem of his uniform and smoothing everything into place. As he reached to tap the chime, the door slid open.

"You're late."

Hux fought to keep his face unreadable, but it was a struggle not to sneer. Of course he was late; Pryde designed it that way. "My apologies, sir." He didn't bother pointing out the obvious by making excuses. He remembered what would happen if he dared.

Pryde's lip twitched into the barest of smiles. "Come in. Have a seat." He motioned with his swagger stick to the chair across from him. He did not get up.

Hux did as he was told, his pulse jumping at the finality of the door sealing itself shut behind him. The sound was no different from any other door on the ship, and yet… it stirred a deep-rooted, physical memory in him. He sat, posture impossibly stiff, and stared at the two crystal flutes and the unopened bottle of Toniray on the table. Though he could appreciate the priceless nature of the wine on offer, Hux did not drink, aside from the occasional necessary toast or diplomatic event, a detail about Hux that Pryde very well knew. Everyone knew, and they knew why. Hux's father had been extremely well acquainted with alcohol, and in his inebriated state, Brendol often took out the stresses of the day on his bastard son. Just a whiff of Corellian whiskey was enough to set Hux on edge for days.

"It's been a long time." His fingers moved over the neck of the bottle like the hands of a lover, familiar with all the right places, the caress every bit as deadly as the small blade he used to slice away the seal.

Hux tightened his fists in his lap to keep his hands from shaking. "Yes, sir."

The wine fizzed as it filled the glasses, its teal hue sparkling in the dim light of the room. The sweet scent must have been pleasant for most, but it turned Hux's stomach. He swallowed again and reached out to receive the libation, hiding the tremor in his hand by setting the glass down and swirling the contents from the base of the stem, as was customary. He didn't drink, but Hux was no uncultured heathen. Tradition dictated that the color and aroma were likewise appreciated before sipping, so Hux held the flute aloft and breathed in its cloying bouquet.

Pryde watched all of this, his gaze boring into Hux. His smile widened. "So formal. So proper," he chuckled.

It was a struggle to drink at all, let alone as slowly as he should to retain propriety and conceal his nerves, but Hux let the tingle of the wine settle across his tongue and tickle the back of his throat. If he were going to be forced to indulge, he wished he could just down it and get it over with. The more intoxicated he was, the easier it would be to deal with… whatever came next. 

After the first few quaffs the warmth spread to his belly, which grumbled, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the room. He hadn't eaten since morning, before he knew where they were going or who would be there to greet them.

"Hungry?"

"No, sir," Hux replied. It wasn't entirely a lie, to the contrary of his stomach's vociferous opinion. After the disappointment of meeting Pryde on the bridge and being given his first assignment, he'd been far too stressed to eat.

"Hmm, that's unfortunate. I've prepared quite the meal for you."

Even absent the smell of any food in the room, Pryde's devious grin made it clear that he did not mean to provide any kind of sustenance in the traditional sense.

Hux said nothing and continued drinking, hoping to speed along the dizziness that often accompanied the consumption of spirits. His mind raced, his thoughts twisting into knots as distressing as those in his gut. He should stop this. Stand up for himself. Outranked or not, what Pryde had planned was not only immoral, it was illegal.

Hux should stop this. But they both knew that he would not.

No one but Hux had ever come to Hux's defense. He hadn't gathered together the scraps of his self-worth until he'd been undeniably in control, ensconced on his flagship with all the First Order's might at his disposal. With Pryde suddenly atop the chain of command – Ren's doing: a detail his mind simultaneously offered and suppressed – Hux's resolve had crumpled and vanished as though it had never existed.

Wine finished, Hux set his glass down, sliding it slightly toward Pryde. If he were to offer more, Hux would not turn it down. The less he remembered about all of this, the better.

Pryde did not offer more. Instead, he stood, clearing away the glasses and retiring the bottle to the cabinet beside his desk. Hux stood as well, hoping to be dismissed.

Pryde’s dominance asserted, and Hux's compliance now established, Pryde lifted his swagger stick and motioned from Hux's shoulder toward the floor. "Strip."

"I beg your pardon," Hux sneered before he could catch himself. Aside from Snoke, and more recently, Ren, he had been unaccustomed to receiving such brusque orders. The affront, combined with the headiness of the wine, shook his usual composure.

Pryde snorted, "Oh, you'll beg, all right." His grin dropped, eyes flashing frozen fire. "Strip. I trust I won't have to tell you again."

Hux backed a step away, faltering on fear- and alcohol-jellied knees.

They locked eyes, and, for a moment, the only thing filling Hux's world was that flinty stare, and all the memories of terror and agony associated with it. His breath caught in his throat as tightly as if Ren were Force choking him. He should run, just turn on his heel and flee, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere safe in the entire galaxy.

In the end, hopelessness and Pryde's will – a combination as immutable as night and day – won out. Hux's hands seemed to move of their own accord, fluttering up to his collar and unfastening it.

His hands trembled, the clasps clinking as they opened and fell away, one by one. A flush of shame warmed his cheeks. His breath quickened as the cool weight of his sleeve knife slid against his wrist. He could end this. Right now. Forever. Pryde was old the first time he'd… and he was even older now. Slower. His reflexes dulled by age and complacency.

"Try it," Pryde hissed.

Hux snapped his head up, eyeing Pryde with suspicion and confusion.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

"Go on." Excitement flickered in Pryde's eyes, a bloodlust that Hux knew all too well. "Try it." Pryde dropped into a fighting stance, as alert and primed as any elite soldier in the field.

Hux snarled and leapt. His blade arced out into empty space. Pryde side-stepped, spun, pushed Hux forward along his trajectory with a swift strike of the swagger stick to Hux's lower back, too precisely over his spinal injuries to be anything but calculated. Hux yelped. Pain blossomed across his hips and lanced down his legs as he stumbled into the desk. Rather than waste time shoving away from the furniture with Pryde closing in on him from behind, Hux leveraged his grip on the edge and kicked backwards. His knee caught again in the pocket of cloth on his jodhpurs, ripping the seam and robbing the blow of any real power. He cried out as Pryde easily avoided his boot and tackled him from behind.

Metal clapped around his wrists – magnacuffs; Hux had no idea where they came from – and with a click and hum, secured his arms to the metal desk top.

"No!" he screamed. "No!" Hux lashed out again, twisting and yanking against his bonds to get in another kick, but Pryde had already danced aside, laughing.

"Shout all you want, Armitage. No one can hear you." 

Pryde grinned and pressed a button on the control stick for the cuffs.

Around the inside of the restraints, spikes sprang out, digging into the sensitive flesh of Hux's wrists. Hux cried out and went limp, dropping the knife and falling to his knees to relieve the strain on his arms and back.

"Ah," Pryde chuckled, "Now, that's more like it."

He gave Hux a moment to appreciate the futility of his situation while he removed his own tunic and undershirt and set them aside, then stepped closer.

"Such a shame I didn't get to see you undress for me, but there will be time for that." He picked up Hux's knife, admiring the thin blade before kneeling to unlatch Hux's belt and pull it away. "Once the Final Order deploys, we'll have all the time in the universe to enjoy one another's company."

Hux tensed and clenched his jaw. He didn't know what this "Final Order" was, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it. The sound of ripping fabric froze all thought and movement, save for the uncontrollable shivers that rattled his frame. Pryde used Hux's own blade to slice through the back seam of his tunic and undershirt, then cut through the cords of his back brace and tossed it aside. He reached into Hux's waistband to retrieve the last, intact bit of his undershirt and ripped it apart until it hung freely from his shoulders, exposing his back. 

"Hmm, yes. Still as beautiful as I remember."

Pryde's gaze traveled along the lines of Hux's scars like Dantari fire ants weaving a trail up his back. The blush in Hux's cheeks deepened. 

Leather snapped. Hux gasped and sputtered at the shock of pain rippling across his back. He hadn't been prepared for such savagery so soon. A mere breath later and Pryde struck him again, harder. His strength had not waned with age.

Two lashes with the belt and Hux had recovered his wits, steeling himself for the stinging blows that followed. This was familiar territory. This he could bear. Even as the scarred flesh softened under the attack, fire building with each new strike, Hux grit his teeth and refused to cry out. Pryde's assault continued until the leather slapped wetly against the sticky, warm blood trickling down Hux's back. Clinging to his resolve, Hux let his trembling breath out at a measured pace. He'd weathered the onslaught without a single cry, but he knew his determination wouldn’t last. 

He barely had time to suck in a breath as the belt arced over his head and tightened around his neck. Pryde jerked on the end of the loop and pressed his boot into the small of Hux's back, wresting the tiniest of sounds from him before his air was cut off entirely.

Hux's fingers stretched out. Reaching. Useless in the shackles that continued to rip at his skin. 

He clenched his fists, desperate to retain some semblance of control as his chest heaved, striving for enough air to keep up with his racing heart.

This, too, was familiar, if not by so mundane a mechanism. But, as dark spots began to fill his eyes his hold on reason and his discipline over his body faltered, dissolving into a mass of quivering muscles, convulsing involuntarily. Perhaps this was the end, and Pryde had intended to kill him all along. After all, if Pryde had an ounce of foresight he could hardly leave a rival as scheming and vengeful as Hux around to spoil his plans. 

Moments before Hux lost consciousness, Pryde relented. 

He wasn't going to die. Yet.

Oxygen flooded back into his lungs, dizzying, but he had only a moment of relief. Pryde lifted up on the belt, urging him to his feet. When he failed to comply, Pryde released the strap and snatched a fistful of Hux's hair instead, hauling him up and over the desk.

Hux's hands were suddenly free, but by the time the realization cut through the cotton in his head, they had _thunked_ onto the desk again as the cuffs re-magnetized. "No," he groaned, but there was no potency to it.

"I would have preferred to take my time, but it's been so very long, my dear." Pryde's hot breath buffeted Hux's ear. His bony fingers worked at the clasps on Hux's trousers. 

Hux felt himself being tugged this way and that as he sucked in heaving breaths and attempted to remain conscious. He couldn't fight anymore. He _wanted_ to fight, to struggle until Pryde either knocked him out or killed him, whichever came first, but his strength was gone. Fear had settled into his bones, locking them in place, and shame, as full-bodied and debilitating as the wine, whispered to him that he was weak. Useless. Worth nothing more than this: an existence as a plaything for more powerful beings. _Let Pryde have his way,_ it purred, _just like Brooks, like Snoke, like all the countless others, and it will be over soon enough._

Tears stung his eyes. He squeezed them shut. A whimper escaped him as he felt the cool air of the room on his exposed buttocks and heard the revolting sound of Pryde expectorating. A trail of thick saliva trickled down his crack. Pryde's cock, fleshy and hot, rubbed the spit around and pressed at Hux’s entrance. 

A sob hitched in his throat – this wasn't supposed to happen again – and morphed into a scream behind his teeth. 

Pryde entered him in one languid stroke, no less painful for its leisure. Once fully seated, Pryde laid his weight atop Hux and made a pleased sound, as if luxuriating in the feel of Hux trembling under him. He slid his hands up the lean, trembling muscle of Hux's thin arms, and clasped his hands over Hux's fists.

"Oh, stars, Armitage…" he whispered against his neck. "It's been so long. _Too_ long."

The false gentleness in Pryde's tone made Hux's stomach turn. Hux turned his face aside. It was enough that he had to feel Pryde inside of him, he couldn’t bear the forced intimacy – worse somehow than the physical pain – that Pryde compelled him to endure. 

"Do you remember our first time together?" Pryde ground his hips against Hux's. "Of course you do. It wasn't so different from this, though you were much younger." He hummed at the memory. "Not even a man yet."

Hux did remember.

All those years ago, bent over his father's desk just like this. His father's muffled voice telling some off-color joke to the other officers enjoying drinks in his quarters while his teenage son was raped in the adjoining office. Pryde was his first that night, but he hadn't been _the_ first.

Pryde groaned and began to pull back as slowly as he'd entered. "You didn't struggle then, either. You were so frightened… I could smell it in your sweat." He nosed at the short hair behind Hux's ear and inhaled deeply. "It's not quite the same, but I know you still fear me." He chuckled, puffs of breath tickling at the nape of Hux's neck. 

Hux tensed at the pause, bracing himself for violence. 

Pryde lapped up a drop of sweat, his tongue a pink slug inching up toward Hux's ear, leaving its glistening, slimy trail behind. "It's delightful."

He rammed in at full force, tearing a wail from Hux as he was split open.

Even as used to pain as he was, it was difficult for Hux to hold in his cries. He reminded himself how much pleasure Pryde took from his pain, and vowed not to give him any more than Pryde could rip from him. He had endured this before. He would endure it now.

Pryde took up a relentless rhythm, scraping his nails over the welts across Hux's back.

Pushing back gave him some small measure of relief, but Pryde purposefully misread the gesture in order to take another dig at him.

"Ah, so you enjoy reminiscing. I thought you might." He leaned over again, slowing his pace, and whispered, "Tell me, Armitage… who was your first?" 

Hux froze.

So did Pryde. 

Pryde nuzzled against the side of his neck again. "Was it… your father?"

Bile crawled up the back of Hux's throat. His guts churned. 

No. His father had abused him in many ways, but he'd never done the deed himself. Hux supposed he could be thankful for that. Brendol had just passed him around to his cronies, or to his superiors to curry favor, betraying his son's love and trust (what little there ever was), peddling his son’s body for nothing more than the advancement or amusement it brought. 

"Tell me," he growled.

"No!"

Pryde pushed in farther, grinding Hux's hipbones into the edge of the desk. 

If Hux told him, he'd only be fueling Pryde's lust with his own shame and degradation. But if he didn't… Pryde would not relent. And as awful as this was, Hux knew Pryde could easily be far, far worse.

"No!" Hux gasped, "It wasn't him!"

"Really?" Pryde chuckled. "Who then? One of his friends? One of yours?"

Hux swallowed against the vile taste the words left on his tongue. Wasn't it enough to torture and rape him? Must he make him relive the worst moments of his life?

"I don't— I didn't know him! I was— he was just… some Imperial dignitary my father was hosting!" Hux sobbed.

Pryde shifted inside him, an involuntary little buck of the hips that wrested another whimper from him.

"When?"

"I don't remember." 

It was a lie. He remembered every mortifying, reprehensible detail. 

The way the man patted Hux's leg under the dinner table that night. Lingering just a bit too long to be casual. Hux hadn't understood. He'd mistaken the touch for kindness, for the type of affection his parents refused to show him. Later, when the adults settled down for cordials in the drawing room, he'd invited Hux to come sit beside him on the sofa, and Hux had obliged, basking in the man's praise when he talked about the droids he'd been building on his own. The man put his arm around Hux's shoulders and kept it there, and when Hux grew drowsy with the late hour, the man offered to put him to bed so his parents wouldn't have to fuss with it. Again, Hux welcomed the attention; if the man went up to his room he could show him the droids he'd been working on, and then he'd know Hux was telling the truth, that despite his father’s statements to the contrary, he really was clever.

Brendol had allowed it. And now, looking back on it, Hux realized that Brendol must have known exactly what would transpire. It would be unheard of to allow a guest – particularly one of such high standing – to perform any kind of task in one's own home.

"You were young," Pryde breathed, nuzzling against Hux's neck again.

The word fell from his lips on the back of another sob. "Yes."

"This was on Arkanis?"

Hux nodded, unable to give voice to anything more.

Pryde resumed his thrusting, his voice growing rougher, more insistent.

"What did he do to you?"

Hux's shoulders shook like a dam about to break and then he collapsed in tears, gasping and whimpering.

"Answer me!" Pryde gripped Hux's hair and wrenched his head back. "Tell me! Now!"

"H-he—he—took me to my r-room and—" His explanation broke off into a wail of despair. He didn't want to remember. Didn't want to say these things. Didn't want his misery to become Pryde's gratification.

"And what?" he hissed, his tongue darting out like a snake's to flick at Hux's ear, taking in his prey's fear and pain with every sense. "Say it!"

"H-he told me t-to put my mouth… on him. He s-said it would f-feel good and I… I did it," Hux cried.

Pryde rammed into him one last time, his hips stuttering against Hux's as he released, deep inside him. 

He groaned – a disgusting, lustful sound that nauseated Hux further – and pulled out. In his distress, Hux barely registered Pryde wiping his cock with the scraps of Hux's undershirt.

Without another word, Pryde tucked himself away, pulled his uniform on and smoothed it back into place, and started toward the door.

He didn't disengage the magnacuffs.

The door slid open.

Was he leaving? Or letting in his friends so they could—

Hux couldn't bear to turn his head and look.

"You… frelling _schutta_ ," a deep voice growled. "You couldn't even wait one standard rotation before dropping your pants to whoever's in charge—"

"A thousand pardons, Supreme Leader," Pryde stammered., "I thought you were—"

_Ren…_

Hux’s heart stopped. For an instant, nothing existed but utter despair.

Would he have his fun now, too?

Hux turned to face him, though he was loath to allow Ren to see him in such a state. Exposed, welts on his back trickling rivulets of blood, that vile man's cum dribbling down his thigh, sniffling and puffy-eyed, hair askew, weeping like a youngling…

When their eyes met, Ren froze. The fury in his face melted into an expression of confusion, his lips working around words that wouldn't come as he finally took in the whole picture of what had happened here.

"Tidge…" he whispered, staring.

The intimate sobriquet cut as deeply as Pryde's lashings. He had no right to utter that name. Not after all he'd done. Not after leaving him to the mercy of this monster.

Hux's frown faltered, his brow pinched in agony instead. His anger slipped from his grasp, exhaustion rising up to engulf him in its stead. It was too much. All of this. It wasn't _fair_. And now he had to be humiliated in front of the last person in the galaxy that... that _mattered_. 

The last vestige of resistance within him snapped and he dissolved into great, heaving sobs.

Ren's saber crackled to life. He turned to glare at Pryde. "You… you did this…"

For once, Pryde's ingratiating demeanor floundered. "Ah… yes, my lord… I simply… wanted to instill some discipline in my charge—"

"You had no right," Ren hissed through gritted teeth, advancing one thudding step for each word.

"Apologies, my lord, I—"

Ren screamed, a deep, guttural embodiment of rage. The sparking blade cut an arc through the air – a thrum of violence and furor – and Pryde's head dropped to the floor, rolling to a stop against the desk near Hux's feet. His body still stood for a moment, as if not yet realizing it had been robbed of life, then the knees wobbled and the rest of him collapsed in a heap.

Hux could only blink and stare, open-mouthed.

If Ren had cared so much, why did he leave him to suffer under Pryde's command? Why had he been abusing him since the moment he killed Snoke and took command? Why had he taken out every failure on Hux's ever-thinning frame? It didn’t make _sense_.

Ren returned his lightsaber to his belt and crossed to Hux with two stomping strides of his long legs. Hux tensed for more pain.

He heard Kylo moving behind him, but soon felt the silky fabric of his underwear and trousers being pulled up and fastened in place. Then, with a gentleness that belied his demeanor, Ren reached out to cup Hux's cheek, thumbing away his tears. "Hux…" he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know he… he would…" He took his hand away, and flicked open the magnacuffs.

Hux inhaled sharply as the spikes pulled away from his wrists. He tried to push himself up from the desk, away from Ren, but agony rippled through his back and he lost his balance.

Ren caught him, again as gently as possible, and eased him to the floor. He reached for the brace, but realizing it had been rendered useless, he left it where it had fallen.

His bloody hands left prints on Ren's wide chest as he tried to push away. "Leave me alone, Ren," he snarled, "Or just end it already. I don't care anymore."

"No… Tidge… Please… I—" He swallowed and tried again. "Let me help you. Please."

Hux glared at him. Like a wounded, skittish animal caught in a trap, he had nowhere to turn and only one target that he could lash out against. "Why? Why do you care?" he shouted, throat raw and stinging from the effort.

"Because…" Kylo looked at him, his eyes pleading, "Because I… I still—"

"Don’t!" Hux hissed. "Don't say it! Don't you dare say it! After all this time! After everything you've done! Don't you dare!"

Ren bit down on his trembling lip and nodded. "You're right," he said, after a long time. "I'm— I'm sorry." He extended his arm for Hux to take. "At least let me help you to the medbay. I'll make sure no one sees…"

Hux considered for a moment. He would prefer it if there were no witnesses to his shame, and the only way out was through the bridge, which, even this late at night, would still have staff on duty. Finally, he nodded and hooked his arm around Ren's.

Kylo's face fell when he saw the stark contrast of Hux's emaciated arm against his own, but he didn't comment. He rose, slowly, helping Hux to his feet before draping his cape over Hux's shoulders to hide what had been done to his back and to his uniform. He smoothed Hux's hair back into place and attempted a tiny smile. "Just act drunk."

They shuffled out the door at Hux's pace.

Only one of the three officers on duty looked up from their station, and quickly thought better of it upon receiving their Supreme Leader's glare. When the door to the ready room slid shut behind them, Kylo's fingers twitched and Hux heard the sound of the door panel fizzling out. No one would find Pryde's corpse or the evidence of what had transpired there until one of them had a chance to go back in and clean it up.

Hux didn't know what to say. Any gratefulness he felt was weighed down by long years of silent suffering and resentment. But if Ren meant it... if Ren... if _Kylo_ truly would not suffer such a thing to happen to Hux again, then... As they lurched down the corridors together, Ren's strong arm guiding him, he wondered if, perhaps, this might be a new start for them. 

Perhaps a beginning, even a flawed and broken one, was better than an end.


End file.
